


After Crisis: Letter to The Stars

by finalheavenlockhart



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: After Crisis, F/F, F/M, self exploration journey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2554715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finalheavenlockhart/pseuds/finalheavenlockhart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Tifa journeys to Midgar to find her revenge on ShinRa, she learns how to live on her own and how to understand the world around her. Set after Crisis Core, before the original game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Flowers. The petals rushed about in a dance with the wind. Where a young woman could feel it brush along her cheeks, it was a surprise for her never to recall just how so many flowers could congregate in a place near her home. The winds and rough terrain usually presented little safety for such delicate plants. Where were they coming from? A serenity of vibrant blues and reds, with a tinge of pink about her cheeks and lips. And green. Green was everyone, all about her person as the waves rushed past in their swift movement. Flowers and mako and the sweet taste of mountain air, all to fade away with opening lids. The palette turned to white in the face of a room, and she the tenant of a bed wiped clean by dull sheets.  
She had forgotten. In her sleep, there were dreams of beautiful colors and sweet embraces. But when awoken, Tifa rustled the sheets and abruptly leaned up in the bed. For something was not right. Something wasn’t right for quite a time.  
Her home. The fire. The people… And Sephiroth. A beast dressed in hero’s garb lay down his insanity by the blade of his sword. She clenched her fists about the sheets and threatened to tear it asunder from the rage coming back, searing pain of her heart as jaw set. A young girl of fifteen sat up in a bed not her own, all due to the selfishness of one man.  
“No…” Whisper to those thin lips, she raised her chin and stared out the window, eyes upon an unknown town. “Him… ShinRa… I hate them all.”  
It was coming back. Every word she said, in the moments of anger and the power preceding her taking hold of his own sword against him. Did she mean it really? Feeling the rage seething unto orifices of the heart. Like a mist to cloud her judgment. Or perhaps… Clear it up?  
“I do. I hate them.” Conviction caught at her throat, the fluttering sound of paper did drift down to her thighs. And suddenly her head turned to find there was a letter left at her chest. Questions did pop left and right from the moments she was asleep to the time now where she woke up confused and perplexed. Yet a bigger question stood above the rest, beyond simply Nibelheim being burned down and everyone dying.  
If everyone was dead, who brought her here?  
It was in the trembling of her fingers. Someone could still be alive! Be around, be able to help! Without thinking Tifa raised from her bedside and ran through the door. What she found was assumed to be the same when if she had done it hours prior.  
Nothing.  
How long had she been asleep? Tattered brown vest clung to her sides, and white tank top was stained red from her own blood, old. Dry. No one was around, save for the tenants that were staying in their rooms. By what she could figure, it was still early in the morning. Whoever put her here had left by night then, or maybe they were lurking about town. Waiting for her to wake up.  
Maybe she should stop hesitating and open the damn letter. With a lingering gaze by the stairs, a young martial artist took her time to return to a room set just for her in an inn without descript name. Tifa would never care to learn it, nor would she want to know the name of the town she was staying either. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t Nibelheim.  
As she sat on the bed and crept knee up to touch her chest, a letter sat open atop that bare skin like a desk for her convenience. The writing was jarring to the eyes, a chicken scratch barely discernable, but familiar once given a moment. 

Tifa,  
I figured it was best to leave you here rather than having you come with me to find somewhere else to be.  
To be honest… I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sure you know something’s gone wrong with SOLDIER… Maybe even ShinRa. I never wanted to get into that though. Politics are hard to understand. And all I’ve ever wanted to do was train people. People like you, Tifa, who need it and want it just the same as that girl I met a short time ago.  
You need to find shelter. Get some money, some food. And maybe in a few years, it’ll all blow over. But for now I know you’re hurting. And at least for now… Try to find a way on your own. Saving you was all I could do. But the rest is up to you.

Zangan.

Her heart raced. The prospect of Master Zangan there, one moment to carry her into town and the next to leave and continue on his way. As if what had happened was another passing leaf fallen from the trees. The tears welled up at the corners of her eyes and she shut them firm, forced them back. Tears were meant for those with something left to lose. And in her tour guide uniform with nothing but that piece of paper in her hands… She had to wonder if that could ever be warranted again. So she ripped it up, left it in the trash due to youth and brashness and anger all around. Blurred lines on the walls and a distant call for something more than just surviving. Her hair was tousled with ash and dirt, scars lit up like the burning sensation about her eyes when she tried to clean up in the nearby bathroom. Burning fire and reddened just the same. As she looked in the mirror, what Tifa focused on that morning wasn’t a cut or her own blood soaked so deep in that tank top there would never be a chance of her forgetting that night… But the lovely sheen of teardrop earrings, matching what flowed down her cheeks. Fluid motion. Beautiful melody. All to drown out the short gasps made in a bathroom she couldn’t even call her own.  
***  
Sunlight seeped through the room by three windows at her left side. Tifa chose not to go back to sleep for the pure ambition of not experiencing a serene dream come undone by the reality of wake. There were the colors in her head and gaze fallen to a trash can beneath a desk. It still had Zangan’s ripped up letter inside. And somewhere inside her, there was a need to take it out of there and leave it in her pocket. So she did so, only when the sun reached high noon and the people that had stayed the night were passing. Were they on vacation? Staying just for the night and continuing on for the day’s festivities? She cared little for an answer to idle conversations. What had dissipated from her person was the dirt, the ash, and light pieces of blood lain about her skin. Tifa had closed the vest over her blood stains on white tank top, and eventually knew she needed to find something else to wear. It was as master Zangan had said; food, shelter, and a way to live. Yet when the young martial artist brought to the pieces of a broken letter to her hands, she clutched them in despair. For that was no way to live. Surviving, moving on from a tragedy fresh in her mind. Hands otherwise clean save for a few scars were tightly winded up with flighty pieces of scrap, and soon stuck inside her brown skirt pocket would be the remnants of a girl in training, soon to face the realities of the world.  
The inn was empty and her gloves her own. Slightly used, but still fresh, she tightened them at the rest and crossed arms so no one would notice the open weapons she held in her hands. The person at the desk greeted her and exchanged simple pleasantries to a girl with bags beneath her eyes but overall healthy complexion. Tifa nodded, but paid no mind till she opened the door and left to go outside.  
Another town, another world to the one who had never stepped outside her home town and those mountains. It was a breath in, and a cough out. The smell of firewood congested the air, leaving her slightly surprised when it was obvious the cold that did pass by wasn’t nearly as bad as it was in Nibelheim. Mountains and high altitude to blame, she supposed. But just how far out could this place be from what was once her home, and how was she to know without asking? A deep sigh resonated in her chest before courage came for her to speak to one more person.  
Not that it would be a problem to find someone. There were people everyone, at each corner of a building a new one popped up. And they dressed in simple shorts and tank tops. That was right, she recalled it like the days had been passing in years. It was still the summertime, and the winds were just to push around the humidity of a hot sun. So, why was the smell of firewood still present in the air? The time was now, at the town square where many had gathered. She saw an abundance of flames make their dance, and cause sweat to go cold at her neck. The sight left her petrified on a dirt path where buildings and people surrounded her.  
Never had she felt so alone. But never had she enjoyed the sound of another person’s voice directed to her.  
“Hey… You okay?” A young man with his friend stepped forward and dared to look her with those curious eyes. Less concern. More interest.  
Tifa turned to him with wide eyes and tried to shake the trance of fire that left her feeling perplexed far more than to her liking. “I. I don’t know where I am.”  
“You’re in Mubelheim right now, a few good miles South from Nibelheim. We’re known for our bon fires.” He sounded proud, yet as though he hadn’t said such a thing in a long time. Whether they got visitors or not was of no concern to Tifa. Her brow furrowed and she nodded towards him and his friend in silence. A greeting and a farewell. A touch of an ending and a start of a beginning. She stepped forward and let hands fall to her pockets before bringing out the small pieces of paper to be kept. That was when she faced the fires again. A play on red and orange and yellow, meshed to designs made by the gods. Her hands let slip what once was and in dispersing unto the flames it became what will be.  
A start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually not sure how I feel about this chapter. It almost feels ooc for Tifa, if it weren't for the fact she's fifteen in a strange place and MY PARENTS ARE DEAD  
> The more I write this, the more Tifa's backstory sounds like a superhero origins fic.

Mubelheim. A town made up of cabins and bonfires at every turn. Where the symbol of fire was at every turn and she could feel the cold sweat slowly drifting away. As Tifa explored the area, questions that had once plagued her tongue begun to die down from the passing time. She still felt her fingers instinctively curl up as she passed by the shops, and watched as people made their chatter despite tragedy having struck but so many miles away. Had they not even heard of the commotion? Seen the SOLDIERs pass by in the way they always do and not return at all? It was as though Nibelheim was but a distant name never to be mentioned, only silently acknowledged by the wind and her fond memories of it being a haven of everyday memories. Her pace quickened near the couples or groups of friends that passed by. She could not look them in the eye.   
A bag. Maybe a new outfit with less blood. Food. She turned her head and saw her reflection in a shop window, those vibrant carmine eyes remained the same. There were a few accessories and outfits on display with dark mannequins with empty faces put in stiff poses. Glow of materia lay on their belts and charms, they caught Tifa’s eye away from her solemn reflection. What was even more bold though, was the price.  
Oh. Right. Money, that’s a thing.   
Prominent frown, curt noise as hands left their marks on the window. It was time to move on… To being an upstanding citizen without any money or a home to call her own. That counts as a hobo right? Quite a few lay below the bridges in the books she read, and living off the land didn’t seem like an option for somebody so inexperienced as she. Her steps went slow as the prospects began to disappear. Just what had master Zangan thought when he left a teenage girl to fend for herself without money or even a fresh pair of clothes to change into?! “What was he thinking? To just drop random kids off gods know where and hope they LIVE?” Haughty breath low to her lips, she leaned against the building and rested her head along the woodwork. People were still wandering the town, going about their business, and the noise only raised when she stood to people watch. This wasn’t how she usually was. When it came to people, to talking to them, there was an ambition just the same as when she took up being a tour guide. When she went to look for her mom atop the mountain. When she went to take Sephiroth’s life with his own sword.  
Ah. Right. That last part really sucks the energy out of a kid, huh? Doesn’t really give the feel of ‘let’s go get a job’ does it?  
She scoured the town, this time paying more attention to the buildings and what they were for. Beyond the clothing and food places, there had to be something akin to her own capabilities. She could cook… A little. But that wasn’t how Tifa swung it when the cook asked for her experience. No, on the contrary, a young girl with pretty red eyes and long dark hair had to use some kind of charm and a whole lot of embellishment to her advantage. All was well in good, she even crossed her legs and laid chin in her hands with meek smile mustered up for the sake of display. Everything was going good till she was actually asked to cook. Then that smile wasn’t so sweet. But the burnt chicken she got to keep at least!  
“This isn’t going well, is it?” Willing to learn wasn’t accepted. And there were no mountains around here to tour. The cowboy boots clicked together as she shuffled out of her third restaurant, laying hands on her knees and bottom to the sidewalk’s edge.   
A sigh. Alone in a town filled with people, and words. Funny, those things. She used to have so many of them, yet here she sat without a single one to give. The passerby wouldn’t care, would they? Not like she was in the way. And the voices were all the same, even if she said a word it would just blend in with the rest.   
“Hey! Be careful with those! Put them in the front.” A call. Loud, booming voice with a deep guttural sound to it. She narrowed her eyes and tried to see past the smoke of a town long since past its prime, but a man who clearly wasn’t. His blond hair was unusual, most people had dark hair around these parts from her observations, but his was a dirty blond that seemed to blend well. Still. It reminded her… Of SOLDIER. Of knights and princesses and being saved. It tightened her chest to think about it, what she wanted to find those days ShinRa’s lapdogs came in to look at their reactor.   
It also gave her a chance to think why this guy’s truck had so much in it. The back was piled with boxes, yet despite the unbearable heat made by the fires all around, they almost appeared… Cooled? She ran past the heat--seriously, what do these people do when there’s a fire?--and stopped short of running into the guy.  
He had materia on hand. She knew it, there was no other explanation… Which meant he had money. “Hey.” Well, that was a greeting. On Tifa’s part, she thought she was making great progress considering for most of the first part of today she barely spoke a word. Did that attest to her mental state, or the fact that her situation forced her to interact with everyone as if her home hadn’t just recently been burned down. “Where--I mean--well. Hi. I was just wondering… Where did you get all these boxes? They don’t look like they’re from around here.” Dad said to never talk to strangers lest they’re paid tourists. But that was sort of nipped in the bud the second he…  
No. Stay focus. Smile. Loosen your shoulders.   
She was stiff as a board. Aware of her physicality but not quite ready to take it into her own hands and wield it like a pro. But the man eyed her up and down, raised brow indicator of his interest. And it made her hesitant, cautious to his action. Tifa crossed her arms and stood her ground, legs apart and nearly digging into the dirt. This town was strange that way, switching from the cement of sidewalks to the dirt of roads. Here this man’s truck lay near the outside of the town, southwest entrance to gods only knew where. It wasn’t a matter if he was leaving this way or came in, but what was in his truck left her wondering. They weren’t exactly for people without good pay, and this model appeared new if only because there were barely any scraps or dirt on it. The amateur martial artist knew little about things like cars. She didn’t care to get into it, and there were barely any in Nibelheim in the years of childhood she could recall, save for the ones that came to take her friends away to be a part of SOLDIER and live in the big city.   
It was half a stare down, half recognition that her mind was elsewhere the second after she mustered up the courage and gusto to ask him the most mundane and out of place question. About his stuff and where he got it. The man had half a mind to raise his hand and wave it about her face to remind her she was asking for his attention, not the other way around. But she was young and pretty and he was… In a good mood to say the least. And it wasn’t about the little girl talking to him. He sighed and ruffled his hair, gloved hands piled with dirt and caking it unto the blond strands. He seemed to have a deep tan to match the color anyway, so what did it matter. “Got it out in the field. Fiends drop ‘em all the time. How else ya think I can afford the latest ShinRa model? Think it dropped from the sky?” Condescending? Slightly. The possibility she had no idea what he was talking about? About a hundred. But he was smiling and proud of the purchase he made recently, over near Rocket Town where people were willing to buy anything for a good price and a nice mouth.   
Plus. He wanted to look cool in front of his other friends. They laughed as they loaded up the truck, the sun’s rays hitting it just right to make the teal color all the more pretty in her eyes. But they called out to him, hollered for him to get back to work just the same as the rest of them. “You can flirt on yer own time! We gotta get this shit back to Rocket Town before the sun goes down.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to fight a bashful exterior in front of a strange girl looking at him with big eyes. What he didn’t know was they were going past him, to the mako shining bright on the locks of those boxes.   
Things that fiends drop… Like materia or equipment. Those odd things that per chance she would find in her tours after a battle off the tracks of their usual path. And it flickered in vibrancy, a fire much sweeter than the doused flames of those bonfires at midday--apparently, they don’t go on forever, to Tifa’s relief these people weren’t crazy--and it also set her breath off a second. A pause. A secret to her own heart’s desire of having just a bit more than surviving. She thanked the man easily and turned to run off past the vehicle and these men.  
“Man, what did she want?”  
“Does it really matter? Hurry up, if we don’t get this stuff back to Cid he’ll have our head.”  
“Yeah, but how much %@*! materia does he need to power up those machines of his? You don’t think he’ll really make it to space, do you?”  
“Not our job to worry about that. Our job’s just to get paid. Prefer it over hunting for fiends and selling whatever they drop.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so late with Nanowrimo. I'm just gonna keep going till the end though. Plus this is my favorite part; where Tifa actually FIGHTS.

Cowboy boots were stupid. She finally admitted about three miles out, and not a single fiend to be found. The terrain was smooth, grass went up to her ankles but luckily could be felt little by the strong brown leather of those boots. At the same time, though, they weren’t the best things to run in. She nearly tripped over her own feet by how numb her ankles had gotten. In hindsight, if Tifa could have a word with the people that thought it was a good idea to put girls in skirts and boots to bring in customers for tour guides, she’d give them more than they’d ever wanted to hear. Officially denied for adventuring sort of activity.   
And you would think these boots were made for these sorts of things. The original job was for going through a mountain! She shook her head and ran fingers over her arms, feeling the development of muscles and taut, sharp places about her body. Cuts had healed, sense of clarity in the fresh air gave her a moment to think. Nothing could beat the deep breath given, nothing could compare for the silence that reigned. Lovely reprieve to the slick heat of a town making her all the more home sick with each passing hour. Homesick for a place that was no longer. Each step she took left her feeling the emptiness at the eyes, dryness of the mouth, and tightness at her heart.   
What was she out here for again? To feel an overwhelming sense of space between what once was and now is. The immediacy of it all, the stiffness her body felt at being abandoned and the childish notion it had to be somebody’s fault. And make no mistake: it was someone’s fault. A single person to pass by her childhood and rip it asunder for his own selfish desires. The happiness and romantic dreams he had no right to take away.   
Suddenly, it was there. The heat and the pang, making a ticking noise like a bomb to her chest replacing her heart. Clenched teeth and hiss. What better opportunity to gain some experience than a battle against yourself, in the much more real sense of a creature rising from the ground. Appearing from the grass, unleashing minor attack as she stood her ground in a haze, unsure what was happening. It was a vision of green and brown. And it was long, fluid motion of a snake with fangs, narrow yellow eyes, and the poisonous venom dripping down unto the dirt. Just a snake? Tifa’s brow furrowed in confusion on whether this one might drop anything as the men had told her, but she bent her knees and dug the heels of her boots against the ground. It made impact, a soft setting on the dirt with footprints to remember her battle. Not that this was her first, on the contrary many a time had she spent defending herself and learning to fight on the mountains of Nibel. Where master Zangan’s sharp eyes focused the same as a snake’s, but the calm purse of his lips reminded her to breathe.   
How strange.  
Up till now, she hadn’t even thought about it. Breathing, the reminder that she was living, not just drowning in the sea of confusion. For her fists may barely hold with the red gloves on hand, but they could do something couldn’t they?   
“Huh… You know. Master Zangan says I’ve got a knack for it.” An e-mail to a once friend. The end of a relationship was drowned in her own tears and own harsh words. But if she were asked to take it back, would she? Too young to know, too rash to make any sort of decisions, how does a little girl face the world by herself? Those long dark tresses spreading out in the wind, her fingers curled and thumb set in place outside the grip. Carmine orbs gave an answer for a snake that did not understand the gravity of her silent conflict.   
She fights.   
A hiss and a shout. Where teeth gnash together and her knees scrape along the dirt, Tifa dove down onto the ground for a swift kick against a languid creature waiting for its doom. It erupted in the sky, a scene of spit and blood. But her fist unraveled and she took hold the snake by its neck--do snakes even have necks? Is the whole body really just one long neck with a tiny head at the top? She’d ask that one in time after an embarrassing amount of contemplation--just to snap it in two.   
It dropped nothing. All she gained was the momentum to go further into the fields and walk along the fences, feel the gloves hit at every splinter and slowly picked them out, waiting. Waiting. For the first strike that would not be hers, and the sound of a monster emerging from its supposed natural habitat.  
A thought. A quarrel in her mind. If this was where they lived, what right did she to disturb them for the sake of money inside a town for people just like her? These were the thoughts of those that had the luxury to contemplate it all. And in the times where she once spent in her room practicing the piano, she would think of everything her parents taught her and what she’d see on the mountain during tours. Mako. The world’s energy, found beneath the ground. It had been harvested by ShinRa with those reactors to help make things convenient for people. Despite it all, this convenience, this luxury, did it really make things better? Her concern for the glowing green and blue before her eyes during the tours closer to the mako reactor left her silent in stipulation.  
Were other things just as difficult? It sat in the back of her mind when she plucked the wood pieces from her gloves. Such a pity, if only she still had the luxury.  
An if only is a waste of time though. And timing was everything, wasn’t it?   
Tug at the brown vest nappy about the collar. Fingers through the tangled mess of black hair frazzled by the wind. And the gaze crestfallen to the lush green bushes she passed every so often. If needed, would this count as her journeying to the next town? Or just a second to venture forth and look at the area before returning to the town of fire? She didn’t know, indecisiveness had grown in the origin of tragedy. And before Tifa could properly think of it, that momentum had lost, there was a roar at the corner and the sharp turn of her head was too late.  
Crash. The taste of dirt was so bittersweet. What was worse lay in the ache of her muscles and shame of slashed cheek by a large bull-like figure a few feet away. With hooves digging into the dirt and horns at the helm, flashing green eyes caught her attention for a second too long before she rose up and dodged the next attack. Shoulder took the brunt of it, but in sheer force did she take stand and try to push back. An endearing attempt leaving her humbled by the power of a fiend in its territory, for a sharp cry matched the tear of skin along her arm. Tifa’s deep gasps pierced the sky, dirt lines revealing just how far she’d been pushed back.   
This hadn’t been a good idea. A child in the midst of her training being stopped short and left on her own. But deep breathing, it was so close to even breathing. A millisecond off, stabilizing heart rate that had skyrocketed up by the force of a bull mixed with the influence of its mako origins. Her shoulder tensed at the prospect of going against once more.   
Maybe a straightforward approach wasn’t what she needed. Quick thinking got her on her feet and running, a mad dash towards the fence before jumping it. There were cries of an animal in berserk mode, the red lust of battle adorning its forehead. There was a plan though. Concocted last minute and a foreign immediacy she hadn’t felt since the hazy memory of blade to chest.   
Wait. That was only yesterday, wasn’t it?   
Dry lips and broken cries. A fist with the force of a village long gone and the legs that slide to the side of a rampaging beast, to the side skidding her knees along the grass and dirt till she pushed with her arms beneath it and up. One had missed and left him dangling. Another nearly slipped from the sweat in the gloves.  
There was a screech and the distant sound of a vehicle caught her ear when knees collapsed and mako leaked from a beast so close she could smell the battle still going on. “Ugh…” How long was that? Five hours? Maybe a day?  
No. Probably closer to five minutes. No one should ever tell Tifa that though. And at least she was right about the truck. The men from the entrance had hauled out when they heard the commotion and wanted to know what was going on. Surprise to them, soon to be just another day in a teenage girl’s life where she’d sit on the ground and idly count the gil in her hands from scrapping with a fiend right outside town. Gil barely enough to make for a night at the Inn. But the pendant in her pocket?   
It might go for a fresh pair of shoes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Tifa deals with her life of crime. Actually you should never listen to me, she has no life of crime. Just a life of nefarious ordeals. Does that mean she's batman?

She examined the ruby color of a gem at the center, and considered just what practical use a fiend might have keeping this on them? For that matter, where did it even find it? These sort of items were normal in the area, as the men bringing her back explained. They had taken the liberty of patching up her smaller injuries, but suggested she pick up some healing materia before trying a stunt like this again. Tifa cocked her head to the side, felt the pain of raising her brow for every inch of her body had ached from a single movement. So much as a smile brought her to wince shortly after. And maybe it had been stupid to go off on her own to catch a fiend in its natural habitat, but the necessity of money was too strong. Not to mention…  
It felt pretty good.  
Oh, the young teenager would never admit. When she felt the man’s rough hands at her waist to bring her up and guide her to the truck, the instant of adrenaline still lingering inside had considered punching him as a possible predator and running off. But those sore muscles, they would have none of this. They would rather be pleased by the cushion of a seat and somewhat dirtied car door that she could hold onto for leverage. Consequences were decent, a recovery rate of so little but skin springy enough to make it known she’ll be okay. No matter how deep the wound though, nothing could beat the feeling of… Well. Having all of her feelings conformed to the might of a fist. Shaped by what had been compromised for a day, the pout of her lip and contorted emotions at the heart of her matter had been put to better use than the dazed expression given while wandering the town with the same clothes she wore when the incident occurred.   
It felt so good, to have those emotions freed by the flight of her punch and drop of her kick. Like a poison to be dripping at her teeth, the taste of blood was far sweeter than she was expecting. And she was having a hard time focusing on anything else but that. That and the dirty blond hair so foreign to her, since most people around the area had dark colors like her own. Tifa remembered him, the one who told her about the freelance work of taking down fiends. His gaze was almost the same as her father’s in scolding her, she almost expected him to tell her it was too dangerous to go out to those mountains by herself till she remembered the brief accent he bore that wasn’t of Nibelheim decent.  
“Got yerself into a mess. And you had no idea you could buy materia around here?”   
“I don’t have any money.” My dad is dead and neglected to give me my ‘just in case our town is burned to the ground’ allowance.   
It might have been for the best that she didn’t mention that last part. Still a teenager, still a bit rash, and still a bit sarcastic when she doesn’t get her way. Tifa knew when to be quiet though, when to consider her thoughts and study a man’s face rather than question him at every turn. Because if she were to question, that would mean he would question right back wouldn’t it? There was no way of knowing if anyone around the area knew about Nibelheim, if the SOLDIERs had come and gone. Or if there were any surviving SOLDIERs in the first place, save for Sephiroth.  
Huh. Maybe she should focus on that part. On ShinRa. On what it all meant back at their headquarters, this insanity in a small town they might not even remember come a few years from now. And the young martial artist knew that if ShinRa caught win of a young girl talking about the destruction of a town nearby… They might do something about it.  
Tifa was still a child in many eyes. Few would believe her lest they go to Nibelheim to check it out for themselves. And unless they were people who knew her and would properly believe her on the spot, there was little facts standing to make her think they would keep quiet. So instead, she did so. Kept her mouth shut and shook her head tentatively. Her shoulders looked feeble with the cuts and bruises endured through battle. Lips were dry, gleam of her gloves faded so easily through that first battle. And perhaps had she not just taken out a fiend by herself, they would have thought her a meek little girl. But at least the man knew better now, having give sigh and look away from the mess in front of him.  
Talk about disturbing. He didn’t want to get into that. Not many would, yet his kindness warranted some sort of gratitude on Tifa’s part, for he offered to give her a ride back to town. The other men groaned, gave protest only to be silenced by the dry blood at the corner of her cheeks. Would they really let a fifteen year old girl beaten up and bruised left for dead in the fields of fiends?  
The answer would silently be yes. Only when prompted would they begrudgingly agree to the hour long trip back to town. They’d lose daylight. Cid would yell at them.   
If only any of this were new.   
***  
Fingers tapped along the counter as she gave the man a stern look. Now, she wasn’t quite sure if it had to do with her long hair or big eyes, but Tifa suspected that the rough looking man with only one eye and scruff about his chin? He might not find her all that menacing.  
“I said, I wanted the gloves.”  
“And I told ya. They aren’t fer sale.” He wasn’t budging. Grimace and slacked jaw, he turned away from this potential customer as though she were nothing more than a joke and continued on his way with the paper work on hand. Seemed he was organizing the inventory piece by piece, placing a gauntlet down on the counter and examining the material before jotting down something alongside a price. The wooden counter was beneath her nails and she warily scraped away at the edge before turning away to leave. This had her in a pinch. Everything else had been collected over a week’s time to make the journey. But a new pair of gloves were needed since the last ones had been demolished from the severe training and fiend hunting. She learned the craft was more than just brute strength by the passerby hunters traveling from place to place. None came from Nibelheim, and none were planning on traveling there either. It was better that way. Less to explain, less to worry about. But nothing was forgotten, not in her mind. As she shoved the gil away through the menial and dangerous task of bringing fiends back for the purpose of a few extra gil to the man in the alleyways in the middle of the night. That was always fun. Enough for another night at the Inn, but plenty more save for the future’s coming.   
And that was what she was doing. Saving for the future. Because until there was the semblance of one there in her mind, she would find nothing in this vagrant’s life. The dirt on her cheek may be washed, but there still remained the blood on a shirt that could never leave. And just the same, was there that cough caught in her throat. It was one face, and beneath it many a stepping stone.   
Take down ShinRa. Take down Sephiroth.   
Head fell downcast as it stared at the ruby glow within the pendant required from her recent fiend capture. Yes, they dropped many a tinkering toy that she’d ask the others in her learning trade what it did exactly. And she found it strange how it was all similar to jewelry. Pendants. Bracelets or armguards. The strangest of all they told her were the ribbons, a flashing red deep as blood that could protect you from anything. Now that’s just silly, she thought. Who would believe something like that? These must be messing with me.  
Still. She furrowed her brow and stood by the door, ready to leave defeated in her goal of attaining new equipment, when the pendant made glow and gave her the idea of really putting it on. What did it do? The question dawned on her other items purchased could be used outside of battle if warranted. The carmine hue of her eyes, never mischievous or even daunting. Rather, they told nothing as she approached the man and looked at him with the heavy burden of a mission took on all alone. Of the days where she learned to fend for herself and slowly begun to cast naiveté in the shadows to emerge something new.  
Something she wasn’t sure if she liked or not.   
“I’m… I’m asking one more time. I have the money for them. And I need them to get to the next town.” I don’t need them, necessarily. In fact, it would just make things a bit easier is all.   
“I already told you no, didn’t I? What’re you still doing in my store?” He scratched his chin and grumbled passively towards the lanky child before him. He’d rather not start something in his place of business, sitting at his chair carrying about his way while some nuisance was goading him to give up what was his. Kind of contradictory to the purpose of a store. But he was saving them for someone.   
Her hands trembled slightly as they made their way to the counter’s edge. He had set his hands down in frustration, giving her only one chance and a rather risqué kind at that.   
Touch. Feel. Where power resonated from the filthy gloves capturing her palms, she breathed out an even tone and hummed along the instructions in her head. At the store where a purchase of materia was made, there vaguely left an imprint in her mind on how to cast and when she should do it. The strict instructions were in battle. The only proper time was out in the fields beyond the town. Never inside  
She always wondered that. How there was some significant rule of silence agreed upon every person in this town or the next to never use materia indoors. Was it a matter of humanity’s sake we keep things like mako at bay from our physical lives? When it was a matter of electricity it’s okay, but here in needing at advantage on the fields of life there was an oath taken of forbiddance?   
Surely ShinRa didn’t think so. And how else was she to take away the fire lest she learn how to tread through it on her own?   
Even breath. Where life came from the very oxygen we breathe, so too does the mako’s reaction. She let it go and closed her eyes. Felt it at her fingertips and circulated the want, need. A mist about the air, and drowsiness to float. Her gaze to match his, half lidded raised and half lidded closed. To watch him struggle with the subtle suspicion of what came over him was the worst part. Or maybe it was the gut wrenching feeling of having it all be too easy to do. As head hit the counter and world collided with Sleep, she jumped the surface and ran hands down the ridges of a container holding many a weapon there in supplies.   
The gloves felt loose at her wrists. Something simple to fix, making them adjustable. But with her at the door and the mist still carrying through, she turned at the heel and left gil in his hands. A mix of melancholy and relief when she saw the magic was contained in the store, to wear off long after she was gone. Or sooner. In truth Tifa had no idea.   
There was a lot she couldn’t figure out in this world. Maybe it should start with the pressure in her heart, forcing a man into a position he never wanted to be in.  
Maybe it should start with accepting the silent oath. Never use materia outside of battle.


End file.
